


Despite Its Strangeness

by Lempo Soi (Lemposoi)



Category: Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters - Jane Austen & Ben H. Winters
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, POV First Person, Regency, Tentacles, Wordcount: 100-1.000, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-19 13:59:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemposoi/pseuds/Lempo%20Soi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...or, Upon the effects of a sea-witch's curse on marital relations – pages from a young wife's correspondence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Despite Its Strangeness

_(The first four pages of the letter are illegible, having been too damaged by moisture during the sinking of the Moss-Oak Heart post clipper.)_

would surely know by now, dear Elinor! My husband's parts, he assures me, are not significantly different from any other man's, which I may tell you has done a great deal to convince me I have done better than most women. I already knew I loved my husband's face despite its protuberances of slithering tentacles. Other ladies, upon entering marital intimacy, may be shocked to discover what unaesthetic configurations lurk underneath ordinary men's breeches.

It seems to me, however, that like myself, they often learn to love their husbands bodies, no longer just 'despite' its strangeness, but with a full heart. Certainly I hope this has been the case for you, and will be for Margaret.

My husband was no inexperienced boy, nor were his prior lovers – of whom we do not speak – wilting flowers incapable of tutoring a man on how to best pleasure them. On our wedding night he introduced me to such physical ecstasies as I'd only been able to approximate before through poetry, music, my imagination, or some shame-faced, lonely fumbling beneath the sheets. He did not enter me until I was dripping wet like a tropical swamp, and his member did not do much to wound me. Since then, we've known nothing but joy.

It was he who timidly asked me to take his male member in my mouth another time, and I soon learned to take pleasure in making him writhe under my ministrations.

It was I who first slipped one of his tentacles between my lips, and performed those lewd – but licit, within marriage, I understand – motions with my tongue that, elsewhere, had brought him such pleasure. His gasp was enough to fire up my blood. I wrapped my fingers around another limb, and it curled around my arm, the suction cups nipping gently at my skin. I played my fingers across it, and my husband shivered in my arms.

It was he who, after a moment of music one morning had descended into lustful play, kneeled before me and lifted my dress. I fell back on the seat and allowed him to open my legs, but could not until the last moment imagine what now seems so natural and obvious. His tongue found that indescribable pearl in my clam and teased it, rolled it, while his bothria fumbled their way inside my moist cave.

How can I describe it? Those extra limbs of my husband's are cleverer than his fingers or mine, and more mobile than his tongue. Two rubbed against each other in my womanly parts, soon joined by a third, and I cried out so loudly we are lucky the cook did not rush in to make sure we were not once more being attacked by enormous lobsters.

Since that morning, it became quite a regular part of our bedroom adventures. There is no protuberance of my husband's that has not explored my mouth, my woman's depths or, indeed, though it's hardly lady-like to mention it, more illicit areas of my anatomy as well. I must convince I would not feel quite fulfilled anymore should we stick to the textbook form of marital relations. Our bodies fit together in dozens of ways – what a shame it would be not to explore them!

Sister, you should find a sea witch to curse that Mr Ferrars of yours, too!

I'm afraid I must finish my missive for tonight. The days are getting shorter, and bright light after dark attracts too much attention from our watery neighbours. I shall dispatch this with the next clipper leaving the port, and despite the small heaven we've built in this charming little town, I am ever counting the days until we return to Delaford, and to you.

As always, I remain your loving sister,

Marianne Dashwood


End file.
